Anna cleared her throat with effort, and tried to speak. Her voice was small and timid. “I don’t know what to say, Madam, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful or disrespectful, but . . . how could I do such a thing? I’ve only just come from the country. I—I wouldn’t know what to do. . . .”
As she spoke, the housekeeper nodded as if in agreement as to the absurdity of the idea.
“Are you certain I am the right girl?” Anna asked.
“The young princess is, ah . . . quite firm in her request. Unless, of course, you refuse.”
“Refuse?” repeated Anna, fear returning upon her instantly at the thought of the reprisals such a refusal might entail. “How could I refuse a person of such importance?”
“You make a good point, Anna. Refusal would be your right in this case, but I do see what you mean.” Mrs. Remington paused thoughtfully. “The young princess contends that it would be more advantageous to have a girl who is a neophyte—without, as she says, bad habits to unlearn. There may be wisdom in this in some situations. However, it is not for me to say. It is the princess’s decision, and she has apparently made it.”
Again Mrs. Remington paused. When she went on it was in her most businesslike tone. “Nina here would be assigned to teach you the social graces required, and generally attempt to make you fit for the position. You would do well to heed her carefully, Anna, for she has served the elder princess for many, many years. This is an opportunity seldom to come to a girl of your background, and for that reason alone you would be well-advised to lay your insecurities aside and do your best to please the young princess.”
A long silence followed while Anna found her courage to reply. “I will try . . . I will do my best, Madam.”
A sliver of a smile crinkled the corners of Mrs. Remington’s lips, this time with some added amusement reaching up into her quiet eyes. The foremost thought in her mind was that the young princess was going to do nothing but bring a peck of trouble upon herself and all the rest of them by this impetuous thing she was doing.
Not that the precocious child didn’t deserve it!
But for the servant girl’s sake—this timid, sensitive, weepy, frail little wisp of a thing—Mrs. Remington hoped the impossible situation worked out somehow.
21
Nina Chomsky, in her fine navy woolen dress and crisp white linen apron, looked down—both literally and figuratively—at the young girl at her side.
They had departed Sarah Remington’s office and were making their way through the great house. The two were alone. Mrs. Remington had left the novice in the capable hands of the elder princess’s personal maid, and Anna could not yet discern if this was friend or foe walking at her side.
Her instinct had always been to expect the best from people. She had not yet been in the city long enough to completely harden that aspect of her character, although Olga in a month had already seriously undermined the trust her father had been building into her for years. Nina Chomsky, however, wore an expression of such complete neutrality that, except for a vague hint of superiority, Anna remained baffled as to what to expect from their future relationship. If Nina would speak, it would no doubt clarify Anna’s uncertainty with marvelous speed, but she kept silent during almost the whole of their passage through the house.
Judging from mere physical appearance, Anna tended to believe this woman would prove friendly. In certain ways Nina reminded Anna of Polya. She was considerably older, but of about the same size and similar build. Even their hair color was the same—a drab brown, though Nina’s contained plentiful strands of gray. Nina’s eyes were likewise large and brown like Polya’s, but lacking the melancholy and depth. Instead, Nina’s gaze was cool and controlled; a defense, perhaps, learned in long service to nobility. Anna wondered if her own eyes would one day lose their emotion too. She hoped not.
After ascending and descending countless stairs, and traversing a multitude of corridors, Nina finally halted her quick stride.
They had just entered a wide, open hallway, carpeted with an ornately designed Persian rug. Anna’s first instinct was to check the soles of her shoes before stepping onto it. Creamy white covered the walls, with brass sconces placed at frequent intervals along the whole length of the corridor. Between them hung huge portraits in gilt frames. This was obviously not a part of the house frequented by kitchen servants.
Anna swallowed nervously, thinking again of her appearance and staring at the closed door before which they stood.
Nina did not immediately knock on the door. Instead, she turned toward Anna and spoke for the first time.
“In a moment,” she said, “you will come into the presence of the Princess Natalia Fedorcenko and her daughter Princess Katrina. I hope you will at least know enough to be civil to them and give a polite curtsy, and not to speak unless you are spoken to.”
Anna nodded, and Nina continued.
“As you heard from Mrs. Remington, I am to be in charge of your training, although I admit I do not think a girl such as yourself can be trained to such a position as this. However, like yourself, I cannot refuse my mistress. Therefore, you will succeed one way or another—you must succeed, since it will necessarily reflect upon me if you do not.”
She paused, looking deeply into Anna’s attentive eyes. Whatever she was looking for she apparently did not find, for when she continued it was without any change in the inflection of her voice. “Do not think you have landed on your feet, so to speak. This will be no position of ease and comfort. Your new duties and tasks, if not more demanding than anything you performed in the kitchen, will certainly be just as hard. There, if you did not do as you were told, the worst you could expect was a beating. If you displease the princess, however, or any of the family, it could go far worse for you. So do what you are told, Anna Yevnovna. I have never been in the place of an instructress before. I will be no easy taskmistress, for I will expect as much of you as I do of myself, and I will expect you to obey me as you do the princess herself, or her mother or father. I hope, however, that I am no Olga Stephanovna. I have never been cruel for the sake of being cruel. I will try to be fair. If you do not like me, I hope you will be loyal to me.”
She stopped and gave Anna a final scrutinizing appraisal. “I do wish I had thought to get your clothes changed first,” she said. “They are atrocious! But it won’t do now to keep the princess waiting further. They told us to come immediately.”
She lifted her slim, well-manicured hand and rapped softly on the door. For a fleeting instant the thought of running away passed through Anna’s bewildered brain. Everything was happening so fast!
A quick glance at Nina, with her steady demeanor, gave Anna a kind of calming courage. Her speech, if severe, had been somewhat reassuring. Perhaps she could learn to be a maid to a noble lady.
They entered the room. Anna took hasty account of her surroundings in a brief second or two before her attention was drawn to more important matters. Though she had never been inside a wealthy home in her life, Anna guessed that they had walked into the middle of a nursery or child’s playroom. The room was nearly as large as her family’s entire cottage in Katyk. Shelves lined the walls displaying many lovely dolls, mostly porcelain and dressed in silk and lace. Several miniature-sized china tea sets sat about, and such an assortment of other toys and books and figurines, and brightly colored boxes and balls, that the room looked like a toy shop Anna had admired when she had been in the city with Polya. A child’s polished oak table with fine leather-padded chairs dominated one corner of the room. Along an adjacent wall sat several full-sized upholstered chairs, as well as a daybed of red velvet. A large doorway opened toward another room, undoubtedly a bed chamber, for Anna could see portions of a bed and a dressing table, both trimmed in blue satin and white lace.
Anna absorbed the dazzling sight in a quick blur. Her eyes were drawn almost immediately to the red velvet daybed and one of its two occupants.
It was the girl from the garden! She only half heard N
ina’s words, “The Princess Natalia . . .”
Compared to the girl’s high color, glinting lively green eyes, and shimmering dark hair, the mother appeared pale and wraith-like. The older woman was beautiful, with amber hair and fine features and alabaster skin. One might even have thought her striking until her vivid, animated daughter came into view. Then suddenly the older princess’s face seemed to go lifeless. When they had met in the garden, the girl had not struck Anna as nearly so pretty as she now appeared, sitting before them with a half-smirk, half-smile of pleasure on her face. Perhaps as Katrina’s presence detracted from Natalia’s beauty, the mother’s likewise enhanced the daughter’s.
“Her daughter, the Princess Katrina,” Nina had just said.
Princess Fedorcenko offered a welcoming smile. Katrina gave none beyond that already upon her lips.
“So, you are the Anna Burenin I have heard so much about,” said the princess. Her tone was as vaporous as her appearance, accompanied with a soft sigh, as if the words had been uttered with great effort. Anna wondered if perhaps the lady was ill. “You know my daughter already, I believe?”
“I . . . I . . . yes, Madam,” hesitated Anna, then curtsied low to the floor.
“Anna and I are good friends, just as I told you, Mother,” said Katrina, smiling toward Anna a look which carried both greeting and mischief.
“Yes, yes,” breathed the princess, “though it is difficult for me to imagine how . . . ah, well,” she sighed, “everything is in order, in any case.”
“Yes, Mother. All is exactly as it ought to be.”
“Well then, young lady, this—” She stopped abruptly, scanning Anna up and down with her eyes. “Oh, Nina, you will do something about that horrid dress the child is wearing?”
“Of course, Madam,” replied Nina.
“Good—it really is a sight! Now, my dear, as I was about to say, this is the nursery,” Princess Natalia went on with a languid sweep of her slim, pale hand. “It is my daughter’s quarters. However, she has taken it into her head to redecorate it. That will be one of your first responsibilities—to organize the proceedings to my daughter’s satisfaction. Do you think that you can—that is, have you ever—”
She stopped in mid-sentence, and then began again, thinking aloud. “But of course you haven’t . . . you are merely a kitchen servant, they tell me. This really is too extraordinary,” she said, glancing toward her maid. “It would seem impossible for the girl to know . . . Nina, what is to be done with her? You will make certain all proceeds satisfactorily?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“Good . . . splendid.” She paused again while her gaze wandered distractedly around the room. “I do hope you will not remove everything, Katrina dear. You have so many lovely things. Why, I remember when we bought that tea set for you in London. You were only six. Do you remember the trip to London, dear?”
“Yes, Mother,” answered Katrina, with just a hint of a patronizing tone.
“Yes . . . well, dear me. I suppose I shall be on my way then.” Princess Natalia rose from the settee. “Nina will inform the girl of everything, won’t you, Nina?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“There! Everything is settled.” Princess Fedorcenko appeared greatly relieved. “You two girls get acquainted, and Nina, do stay and help the girl get settled into her room—and the dress, Nina.”
Nina nodded. The princess patted her daughter’s hand and smiled benignly, then walked with a frail motion toward the door, almost giving the appearance that one of the china dolls from the shelves had come to life and was gliding across the floor. Nina opened the door for her and was instructed to return to her mistress’s boudoir before luncheon to inquire of her needs.
The moment her mother was gone, Katrina jumped up and sprang into action.
“Where shall we begin?” she demanded.
“You heard your mother, Miss,” said Nina, bringing all the diplomacy of her years of experience to her aid. “I must first see to some suitable clothes for Anna . . . and perhaps a bath,” she added.
“Oh pooh, Nina, you’re no fun,” said Katrina. “I want to start on my room!”
“And we must show Anna her new room, Miss, and give her a chance to get her things from the other wing and settle in.”
“Perhaps you are right,” sighed the young princess. “But, Anna, you won’t mind fetching me a cup of chocolate when you return to the kitchen for your things. I’m simply parched. Oh, and my dress for dinner will need pressing.”
Anna sent a questioning look toward Nina, who merely nodded, reassuring Katrina that it would be taken care of.
As Anna and Nina left the princess’s room, Anna wondered if she might be even busier here than she had been in the kitchen, although she could not imagine that the work could be as hard no matter how much the Princess Katrina gave her to do. Nina and the princess and her mother all together could not possibly be as odious as Olga Stephanovna!
Walking back to the kitchens, with Olga once again on her mind, Anna could not help dreading how the kitchen matron would take the change. The woman’s threats came back to her, and she found herself cringing as she once again approached Olga’s domain. But as she walked in, work was continued just as before, Olga was nowhere to be seen, and Anna made her way up to her room without incident. She did not see Olga Stephanovna again for several weeks, and when they then passed in a corridor, the kitchen mistress gave her no sign of the slightest recognition.
Parting with Polya proved the most difficult aspect of the change for Anna. Seeing that Olga was not on the premises, she approached Polya where she stood over one of the counters sorting through and cutting the day’s supply of beans, and quietly told her the news.
“Anna, you mean it!” her friend exclaimed happily.
Anna nodded, smiling sheepishly. “I’m just here to gather my things. Nina is expecting me back at the house in half an hour—to bathe me, she said—”
“The nerve!” interrupted Polya.
Anna laughed. “She wants to bathe me and put me in new clothes, she said. And I couldn’t serve the princess in these.”
“I still don’t like her saying such a thing,” insisted Polya. “She’s always been uppity around those of us over here. Oh, Anna,” she suddenly cried in alarm, “you won’t get that way, will you? Looking down your nose, and glancing in the other direction when we meet in the hallway?”
“Don’t be silly!” replied Anna. “I could never do that.”
“Oh, I will miss you!” said Polya, wiping her hands on her apron and embracing Anna tightly.
“I’m afraid I’m about to start crying again!” said Anna. “But don’t worry—you will always be my first and special friend in St. Petersburg. And I will ask for part of Thursday free, so that perhaps we may continue to spend it together.”
Polya agreed to the idea with great enthusiasm, but the perennial melancholy around her eyes deepened as she watched her young friend leave the kitchen a few moments later.
A touch of unavoidable envy crept into her heart. She hoped they would continue to see each other. Yet she also knew that Anna would as of this moment begin moving in much different circles.
22
There weren’t that many occasions when Cyril Vlasenko found himself singing the praises of his wife. This, however, proved to be one of them. The woman could be useful! He had never before been thankful for her friendship with Princess Fedorcenko. But for that fact, too, he now gave thanks in the cunning corner of his heart.
At first he hadn’t for the life of him been able to figure out why the invitation had come; he and Fedorcenko had hardly spoken in years, and he knew perfectly well that the hatred between them was mutual. But his wife had seen that mooncalf Natalia last month; they had probably arranged it without Viktor’s knowledge. And what a perfect opportunity! A chance to see St. Petersburg again, as well as get inside the house. Who could tell what might turn up? His presence alone would probably be odious to Viktor, and he could deri
ve at least some satisfaction from that. But he would keep his eyes and ears open to try to gain something more substantial.
During the past week Vlasenko had been giving more and more thought to the possibility of trying to infiltrate the house somehow. The peasants throughout the countryside were always trying to better themselves. How difficult would it be to get his wife to drop a kind word or two in Natalia’s hearing about some poor unfortunate waif of her acquaintance, who showed great promise but whose family was destitute, wondering if she would be so kind as to provide an opportunity for some menial employment? Even mere children, if you found the right sort, were willing to do most anything in order to ease the burdens on their near-starving families.
Of course Cyril would not have his wife add that most were starving because Vlasenko himself charged a barshchina three times more than the poor men of his region could hope to earn from the small plots of land they had been given. Most had been Vlasenko’s own serfs in the old days and had received their share of beatings at Vlasenko’s hand. But now that the serfs were free, their lots had hardly improved. Cyril had managed to get himself elected to the local zemstvos in spite of the fact that everyone for miles around hated him, and controlled the peasant head of the mir that administered land use, ownership, and payments. As chief of the local police in addition, Vlasenko’s power on a local level, if anything, was greater than it had been prior to the Emancipation. But even though he still retained the title of “count,” he knew it meant nothing. His father had controlled the area prior to the Emancipation, but that edict had forced the family into bankruptcy, and now Cyril merely hung on to a faded form of past nobility.
Cyril’s name, of course, could never be mentioned in any such request to Natalia! Every child between five and fifteen for miles lived in mortal terror of the police chief, many having seen him drag fathers away from weeping wives to spend a week in jail for non-payment on their land. These sorts of unpleasantries could never be brought to Princess Natalia’s attention; the Fedorcenkos were notorious for their leniency toward servants. But they were fools, and would see what came of giving the lower classes too much freedom!
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